Mazhrim's Mission: A Gnoll's Revenge
by Jinxtapose
Summary: A chance encounter between a cunning gnoll and a curious tabaxi sets in motion a chain of events which drastically affect the future of two nations in ways neither of them would have ever expected. (Reader Warning: Rated MA18 for Adult/Mature Content, Language & Violence)
1. The Meeting

The thunderclouds were beginning to rumble loudly in the midnight sky, but the hunt was nearing its conclusion. The hunt had not lasted long, and it was less a hunt than it was a slaughter. Three of the four invaders displayed little resistance as the warband fell upon their campsite and dismembered them, one of them was so drunk he did not even rouse to the cry of alarm that signaled the attack. The fourth however was proving difficult, and she had managed to scramble away from the carnage immediately after raising the alarm to warn her companions. She had fled west into the thickest part of the forest, but not quickly enough to prevent a well-aimed arrow from piercing its way into her thigh. Despite her injury she was still able to move quickly and silently through the trees, but it was the droplets of her feline blood that ultimately led Mazhrim, the warband's most cunning tracker, to her.

When Mazhrim finally did come upon his prey the cold rain was coming down a sideways deluge. Judging from the way the feline humanoid was sitting in the muck, on her hindquarters and facing the way she had come, it seemed to him she had run out of willpower to continue her escape and resigned herself to her fate. With a low growl to announce his arrival he stepped dutifully forward, his tribal spear clutched firmly in his grizzled paw, and looked down upon his wounded quarry proper. What he gazed upon through the darkness and torrential rain confused him to no end.

The creature was unmistakably female, Mazhrim had assumed this much from her scent as he had followed her, but his suspicions were confirmed as he gazed upon her form. She was like him in some ways, but different in so many more. They both had bodies covered in short fur, but his was thick and dark like soot, where hers was soft, light as sand, and speckled with small reddish-brown dots. They both had bestial faces and snouts, hers was slender and elongated where his was flat and broad, and her ears were as pointy as his were round. She was thin, lanky and looked a touch malnourished, whereas he was stout, heavy and quite well-fed. She looked up at him from the ground as Mazhrim eyed the arrowed in her leg, before he shifted his gaze to fixate on her eyes, they were bright blue and full of unmistakable frustration. He was expecting her to be mortified like so many of his victims before her, but instead she looked more annoyed than anything else.

"Do it then," she hissed through pointed teeth while eyeing the spear in Mazhrim's paw, but he made no move to advance on her. He had frozen on the spot, not because of her indifference to being murdered, but because she had spoken in the clear dialect of his tribe.

"How?" he growled in confusion.

"What difference does it make," she said indifferently, "just be quick about it."

Mazhrim jerked his head abruptly, "No. Tell me who taught you to speak our language." The creature stared at him in silence, and just when he thought she was going to refuse to answer she spoke.

"I am not speaking your language. I am speaking mine. Through the power of divination, we can understand each other," she said quietly before turning her attention back to the arrow in her thigh. She inspected it for a few moments and then tilted her head back to look upward into the black raining sky. Her expression suggested she did not have a solution for her injury. Mazhrim scowled as his confusion continued to mount.

"Tell me who Divination is," he commandingly rumbled. She looked at him for a long moment before erupting in laughter that carried throughout the small clearing they were in.

"Divination is not a person, it is school of magic," she corrected him through her laughter, "and I suspect you know nothing about it. Gnolls aren't exactly known for their intelligence, are they?"

Mazhrim remained still, but his body trembled with anger at her obvious insult. Though her remarks were not incorrect, a part of him wanted to end her existence right there on the spot. The greater part of him was captivated by her mystifying carelessness and mellifluous laugh. It wasn't often that his prey conversed with him, excluding the terrible screams and shrieks they sometimes emitted before expiring, and never once had one spoken to him in the language of his kind. The creature before him was an enigma.

"Some are more intelligent than others," he replied coolly, and to his surprise she nodded her head agreeably.

"This is true. I suspect you're one of the smarter ones of your tribe seeing as you're the first to find me," she mused. The rain continued to pour everywhere on the pair, but neither made any motion to prevent it from doing so.

"Maybe I'm just the fastest," Mazhrim disputed. His response only caused the feline creature to smirk and shake her head unceremoniously. Normally a blatant act of rejection would have made Mazhrim's blood boil, but in this instance, it did not. Something about her was calming his bloodlust.

"Maybe," she said slowly, "but I'm willing to gamble all the fish in the sea against your claim."

Mazhrim snorted, but he couldn't stop his lip from automatically curling upward in amusement, "And how would you pay that gamble if you lost?"

"I wouldn't have to," she said simply, "I don't gamble on anything that isn't a sure thing."

"Then it isn't gambling," Mazhrim said with a scowl. His quarry appeared puzzled as she looked up at him from her spot in the mud.

"What would you call it then?" she asked him after a brief pause. Mazhrim's scowl grew larger as he contemplated his answer.

"Deception..." he snarled forcefully, more forcefully than he intended, and immediately he regretted his reaction. The feline had flinched theatrically, and she was now leaning away from him as though expecting him to pounce. Her slender muzzle had also turned itself into an unmistakable frown.

"I wasn't trying to deceive you," she said hastily, "…and I'm sorry if you considered it as such."

Mazhrim eyed the cat-creature guardedly for a few moments. He wasn't sure what to think about her. The way she was speaking to him was friendly, her movements yielding, but given her predicament it was hard for him to take her at her word. He still had no clue as to what she was, where she came from, or why she was in his tribe's territory. Until he knew more about her he was forced to treat her as a foe. This realization unsettled him, and he could not understand why.

"Tell me what you are," he said slowly. He was careful to keep his voice low and unintimidating. This seemed to have a positive effect, the feline was no longer leaning away from him.

"Tabaxi," she answered quickly, and upon seeing the lack of understanding on Mazhrim's face she added, "my clan has lived for many centuries on a small island chain east of the continent of Maztica."

"Never heard of it," Mazhrim grunted. He was surprised to see the tabaxi was nodding her head.

"I would be surprised if you had. It is very far away. You would have to cross the entire Trackless Sea to get there," she said.

"Why are you here if your homeland is very far away?" he questioned suspiciously. His question drew a sigh from her.

"It is a long story," she said softly as she turned her attention back to the arrow sticking out of both sides of her leg.

"Then give me the short version," Mazhrim said, and suddenly the tabaxi wailed loudly. He wasn't sure why she was making a fuss, he thought it was a simple request, until he noticed the fresh blood trickling down her leg mixing with the falling rain. She had tried to snap the arrowhead from its shaft and failed miserably. It took her some time before she regained enough composure to speak.

"I was captured and enslaved by humans who sailed to our island many years ago," she said tersely, "and when we arrived in Faerun I was sold to a collector of exotic creatures. Apparently, I was worth quite a bit of coin." Her tone was hollow and filled with bitterness, and Mazhrim felt a tinge of pity for her. Her story sounded believable, but she hadn't answered his primary question.

"And how did you end up here? Now?" he pressed her. He wanted to believe her, but his instincts kept him on his guard.

"I said it was a long sto-," she began, but Mazhrim cut her off.

"How?!" he barked at her.

The feline was undeterred. She closed her eyes and inhaled calmly through her slanted nostrils. She kept her eyes closed as she repeated, "I told you… It is a long story. If you don't like how I'm telling it you can kill me and be done with it."

Mazhrim's insides raged. She was trying him, was outright challenging him on the spot, but despite this he could not find it within him to oblige her. "Very well. Speak quickly then," he grunted.

"Once I had been sold, my patron wasted no time in showing me to his many colleagues. I could not understand their language, but it took me little time to realize I was his prized possession. I was treated well, even though I was his pet and served no use than to be shown to others." She had spoken more quickly as he requested, but her words were clear and easy to follow.

"There are worse fates," Mazhrim countered.

"It depends on the individual," she counter-countered before adding, "and to me, captivity is the worst."

"Hrmp," Mazhrim said dismissively, "and then what happened?" Mazhrim noticed the feline was no longer looking at him. Instead she responded as though talking to the nearby trees.

"I waited for an opportunity to escape. Eventually one came and I took it… in the process I killed my owner to prevent him from tracking me down."

"Wise decision," Mazhrim rumbled. The tabaxi's posture suggested she wasn't fully convinced. She was still looking at the trees, but her shoulders were hunched and she seemed diminished. "Then what?"

"I fled. I thought killing him would prevent anyone from following me, but I was wrong. All I did was buy myself a little bit of time to gain a lead. He had many loyal servants who hunted me, they wanted retribution for their slain employer," she said.

"But you escaped them," Mazhrim replied presumptively.

"Not on my own," she corrected him as she turned her face to him once more. "It was a chance encounter with a small group of travelers which allowed me to evade capture. They were led by a human named Marcus Destone, and each of them had a past they were trying to escape. They accepted me without too many questions. Marcus was the one who taught me the common language of Faerun, and how to exist within its many regions. He taught me many things over the years I was with them, and eventually he taught me how to be like him."

Mazhrim's brow furrowed from confusion, "What do you mean? He taught you to be like a human?"

"No," the tabaxi said with a quick shake of her head, "he taught me to be a spellcaster. Marcus was a traveling storyteller, he called himself a bard, and his words had unique way of affecting people. He could get them to do things, make them believe things, make them see and hear things. I was skeptical of his abilities when he first told me. I didn't believe him until he started to teach me."

"And this how I can understand you?" Mazhrim said after a long pause. The tabaxi nodded her head. "The men you were with tonight… were they part of this group lead by this bard? Was he among them?" The tabaxi shook her head.

"No, those men were-," she started to say but then stopped abruptly. Her head had twisted sharply to look at the trees she had been gazing at a few moments ago. Though he could not see them through the heavy rain and thick trees, Mazhrim knew his warband had finally caught up to them.


	2. Razhara

The tabaxi was in pain. Mazhrim could see it in her eyes, but she remained eerily silent as the three gnolls tortured her with their spears. She had received at least a dozen cuts on her body since they had arrived in the clearing. None of the wounds were mortal, her tormenters were careful to cause as much pain as possible without overdoing it. Even though she was making no sound, the gnolls knew they were achieving the desired result by the way she was jerking away from the spearheads as they sliced through her fur into her flesh.

"That's enough, Razhara," Mazhrim snarled at the largest of the three gnolls. The other two paused their poking and turned to look at Razhara for instruction, while Razhara himself turned to confront Mazhrim. Mazhrim didn't need to see the other two properly to know who they were. Jarrah and Lorka were pathetically loyal to Razhara and they rarely left his presence.

"You do not give commands to me, Mazhrim. Do it again and I'll rip out your tongue before shoving it down your throat," Razhara dominantly growled. Mazhrim responded to the larger gnoll with a challenging snarl and pointed at the tabaxi on the ground.

"She is more than prey to be played with," Mazhrim argued aggressively. He was filled with hatefulness as he saw the wicked smile forming on Razhara's lips.

"Of course she is," Razhara said coldly, "once we've had our fun we're going to rip her apart, piece by piece, and devour the bitch... just like we did with her companions."

"So that's what delayed you, is it? Not your terrible hunting skills?" Mazhrim taunted through a clenched jaw. He had noticed the way the tabaxi was trembling after Razhara had spoken, and the sight of her wounded and at their mercy gave him a fearlessness he couldn't explain. Razhara's smile had vanished and was replaced with a visage of murderous intent. The other two behind Razhara had turned their attention to Mazhrim and were growling menacingly at him.

"I dare you to repeat that," Razhara said in a deadly growl.

"Your hunting skills are an embarrassment," Mazhrim growled back. It was a dangerous venture challenging Razhara, he was well over a foot taller than Mazhrim, but Mazhrim couldn't see any alternative. It would have come to this eventually, and given the circumstances now seemed like the best time to resolve their hatred of one another.

"I accept your challenge, Mazhrim," Razhara said as he spat on the ground at Mazhrim's feet, "and when I'm finished with you I'll piss on your corpse and leave it for the worms. Eating you would be worse than eating shit."

A crack of thunder distracted Mazhrim from Razhara's sudden charge, and the smaller gnoll barely managed to raise his spear in defense as his larger adversary thrust their spear at his heart. Wood grinded on wood as Mazhrim pushed Razhara's shaft away with his own. He didn't have the strength to offset his opponent's balance, but what he lacked in raw power was negated by his heightened speed and reflexes. Mazhrim used the momentum of his deflection to step in close, effectively closing the awkward gap between them, and once he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Razhara he rammed the crown of his skull into his attacker's jaw.

Mazhrim felt a sharp pain in his head, felt the gratifying sensation of crunching bone, and despite the heavy falling rain he felt the warm sticky feeling of blood on his head. He wasn't sure if it was his own or his enemy's, and he didn't care. He only cared about ending the fight as quickly as possible.

Mazhrim snarled ferally as he bashed his shoulder into Razhara's chest, and to his surprise he felt the other gnoll's body shift and fall into the mud. In a flash Mazhrim had thrown aside his spear and launched himself onto his fallen foe. His claws and teeth were just as deadly as his spear, and he focused his vicious onslaught of claws and jaws on Razhara's face and neck. Mazhrim inexblicably received no resistance from Razhara. The fight had ended just as quickly as it had started, or so Mazhrim thought, until he heard the very close-by feline wail of agony and felt the weight of another bearhugging him from behind. Jarrah and Lorka had made their move. The fight was only beginning.

It took Mazhrim only a moment to understand what he saw seeing through the storm's gale. Jarrah was only a few feet infront of him, but his back was turned away from Mazhrim and he was leaning over the prostrate tabaxi. Mazhrim could see the spear extending from Jarrah's claws, but he couldn't see the lethal point of it, for it had sunken somewhere deep into the tabaxi. Judging only from the angle of Jarrah's stance, the spearhead had likely passed all the way through the female and was embedded somewhere in the mud underneath her. Jarrah had skewered her on his spear. This was the last thing Mazhrim remembered before he blacked out.


	3. Aftermath

The gentle sensation of falling raindrops on Mazhrim's face was the first thing he felt as he regained consciousness. This wet soothing tingle was fleeting, and was quickly suppressed by a sinister burning that afflicted his entire body. With a colossal effort he opened his eyes, or at least he tried to, and for the briefest moment he saw the darkened canopy of the forest above him before a crippling surge of pain in his brain caused them to squeeze shut. Something was horribly wrong. The pain in his skull was nothing like he had ever felt before, and it completely prevented him from comprehending his situation or condition. Unable to do anything else, Mazhrim laid on his back and endured his inescapable suffering. How long he remained like that he did not know, nor did he know when the tabaxi had arrived at his side. Most importantly, he did not know she had been singing to him.

"Can you hear me?" her voice whispered from somewhere in the darkness. Mazhrim responded with a languid nod. Though his eyes were still closed and he could not see her, he heard the relieved intake of breath from the tabaxi and smelled her exotic scent. She smelled like wild flowers grown in fine sand, and she was very close to him. "Listen carefully… you have been grievously wounded and you're dying. I've done everything I can do for you right now, but I'm afraid isn't enough."

This revelation gave Mazhrim the strength to open his eyes, or at least one of them, and immediately he saw the blurred outline of the tabaxi's face leaning over his own. She wore an expression of grave concern and she looked haggard, but her blue eyes were shining brightly through the darkness of the night. Mazhrim felt at peace as he considered them.

"Then you should let me die," Mazhrim uttered sluggishly, "and get out of these woods while you still can. Go southwest until the forest clears and then make west. If you lose the warband following you, you should come upon the Trade Way without any problems." He coughed violently after speaking, and he was not surprised to taste a mouth full of his own blood... but he _was_ surprised by the tabaxi, she had hooked her arms under his armpits while he had coughed and had managed to hoist him into an uncomfortable sitting position.

"You should have let me die," she said to him, "but you didn't, and without your aid I would have surely met my demise." Mazhrim could feel her body pressing against his back as she crouched behind him, and before he could ask what she was planning to do, her slender arms wrapped firmly around his torso and tightly constricted him. Mazhrim managed a brief howl of pain as his chest erupted as though on fire, he barely noticed the tabaxi had proceeded to drag him through the mud away from the forest clearing.

One of the two most critical wounds Mazhrim received was on his chest, and given the pain he felt it came as no surprise to him. A vertical gash several inches long had separated his fur and flesh enough to peel back and reveal the dark red cloven muscles beneath, and he noticed a large quantity of blood escaped out of him to stain the fur of his abdomen and loincloth a dark crimson. Adding to the gravity of his injury, the muscles of his chest had been severed to the point where he could see a sliver of white bone beneath the flesh when the tabaxi paused to readjust her hold on him. The silver lining was her embrace put pressure on his wound and kept him mostly closed, but it didn't stop it from hurting like hell.

The other severe injury he sustained was to his head, and it wasn't until he lifted a paw to feel around that he discovered what happened. The left side of his muzzle and cheek had been deeply clawed and torn, and with the tips of his fingers he explored his eye socket. A painful stinging sensation overcame him as he discovered it was nothing more than a crater, a crater completely devoid of his eyeball. He sucked air through his teeth and groaned. This entirely explained his compromised vision and throbbing headache. Despite his injuries, and despite being dragged awkwardly through the forest, Mazhrim quickly understood his injuries were lesser fatal than his three opponents.

Razhara was laying in the exact spot Mazhrim last remembered him to be. The brutish gnoll was still as stone and laying on his back, and upon quick glance it appeared he was star-gazing. Mazhrim knew otherwise, his claws had shredded so quickly and deeply into Razhara's face and neck that the larger gnoll was dead within seconds of being taken to the ground. The bodies of Lorka and Jarrah were in the clearing as well, and they were no less dead. Jarrah's body was mostly unscarred, but it took Mazhrim a few moments to realize what he was seeing as he looked upon the corpse. Jarrah was laying face-down on the forest floor a few feet from where Mazhrim thought the gnoll had impaled the tabaxi, but Jarrah's head was twisted completely around to the point of being abnormally grotesque. It was irreparably broken. Jarrah's blank lifeless eyes gazed accusingly at Mazhrim as the tabaxi and the gnoll made their way past the body.

A few steps later the body of Lorka came into view. Lorka's body was erect and appeared to be leaning with his back against a large tree's trunk, although his head, shoulders and arms were slumped and dangling. His body had been modestly clawed and slashed, but the fatal wound to the gnoll's chest overshadowed the minor scratches. The shaft of Mazhrim's spear sprouted out of Lorka's torso just below the ribcage. Given how little of the shaft was visible, Mazhrim immediately understood the spearhead was embedded securely into the trunk behind Lorka, and the unfortunate gnoll had been stuck to the tree by the spear that pierced through his core.

"How did you manage to do all of that," Mazhrim questioned in awe as he and the tabaxi escaped traversed into the thicker foliage. He tried to lift his head and look over his shoulder at the feline, but found he was too weak to accomplish even this simple motion.

"I didn't," she grunted roughly in response, Mazhrim attributed the roughness to the laborious task of dragging. "You did."

"I did?" Mazhrim questioned slowly. He tried to remember what happened, but his memory was foggy and dull due to the pain he felt all over his body.

"Mhmm," she replied simply.

"I don't remember what happened," he admitted after a long pause. "The last thing I remember was Lorka grabbing me while I watched Jarrah run you through with his spear."

"He missed me, but barely," the tabaxi replied, "and you didn't stay restrained for long." Her response made Mazhrim chuckle, but the chuckling caused his chest to burn so he ceased.

"Ouch," Mazhrim growled in frustration. His growling made the tabaxi stop her act of dragging him.

"I'm sorry, I'm doing the best I can," she panted, "and you're really heavy."

"No, you're doing alright. I was growling at myself for laughing and the pain it caused."

"Oh," she said, and a moment later they were off again. Mazhrim noted the slow-going progress, but at least it was progress. To his surprise, the rest of the warband seemed to be completely oblivious to what had recently transpired. If they had known three of their tribe had been killed by one of their own, and that one of their prey had escaped their clutches, the repercussions would be swift and brutal.

"What's your name?" Mazhrim asked the tabaxi after a few minutes of silent progress.

"Sings To Fish," she said.

"Sings To Fish..?" Mazhrim repeated curiously. He was not sure he heard her properly.

"That's right," she confirmed.

"Why would anyone name you that?" he asked, but he was careful not to laugh despite his overwhelming desire to do so. He assumed she detected the tone in his words, but she responded to him cordially.

"Tabaxi culture is unique. Parents given their offspring names, not at birth but sometime later, and the name given typically exemplifies the qualities of their personality or skills."

"Hrmp," Mazhrim grunted. "So then… you sing to fish?"

"I sing to anything that will listen."

"Would you sing to me? I will listen," Mazhrim asked earnestly.

"I already have," she said lightly, and even though Mazhrim's back was to her, he could hear her smile in her voice, "but I will again if it pleases you."

"It will," Mazhrim said. Though he could not explain why, he knew in his heart it would.

"Before I start, please tell me what your name is," she said to him.

"I am called Mazhrim," he replied, and immediately he heard her snickering behind him.

"Mazhrim? I like it… but I think I'll call you Growls Like Thunder," she said playfully, and keeping true to her word… she sang to him.


End file.
